Butterfly Diaries A teen on a quest to be a better writer

Category Archives: Poetry

Toxic- 8/10/14

I can’t help but write about the metaphor you presented me
Of your fiancé hurting herself with the engagement ring you gave her
When a relationship is as poisonous as yours,
It should come with a warning label
It didn’t and I got involved
I guess I’m not so good at reading signs anyway
You’ve cut a much too big heart shaped hole
Through my chest
And dug around before finding what was left
I just hope that you don’t lose the chain that you keep it on
It’s funny how we will go through so much pain for a chance at love
The parallels to religion blow my mind
An omniscient all powerful thing we have so much faith in
We let it guide us
I let you guide me through the garbage disposal
And now I’ll sit and rot with the rest of the trash
Thinking how lucky I was to have such an obvious reason to believe
And glancing up through the light to see you happy
I’ll tell myself it was worth it

Dorm Girl

Written some time last semester. Just found it

 

I don’t want to write another sad poem

I don’t want to write another self harm suicide rape trauma poem

I don’t want to write another poem that I cry through

When I try not to write  sad, I write sex

But what am I supposed to do when sex and sadness intertwine?

Molested as a child and it never stopped

Harassment here, blurred lines there, just another guy I’m meant to hate

I told everyone I loved it.

I told myself I loved it.

Then I found myself in a relationship with an asexual guy

At down I find myself wondering if it is because I needed a break

or because I wanted to be the one pushing for once

Fuck, now I’m crying again

They beg you to throw away your blades and they give you a typewriter

What else can I write?

Should I tell you about the girl?

The girl I catch myself thinking about too often?

The girl who plays guitar and piano

like it’s the only way her thoughts can escape?

It’s not that I want to have sex with her

I just want to see the inside of her

I want to know if it’s barmen and carved into

or blurry and dark.

I want to know why she does so many drugs.

Is it to numb or to feel?

I catch myself looking at her hands

Can you be attracted simply to the way hands move on certain people?

I can tell so much just looking at them

The callouses and burns don’t give it away

It’s the way she grabs beer and weed like her mother’s hand

but pencil and paper like something foreign or banned

It’s the fact that she is 20 something and I was her second kiss.

She kissed me out of anger.

She kissed me out of fear.

She kissed me because she didn’t know what else to do with herself

I think that’s why I’m so mesmerized.

She has so much emotion but lets herself believe she doesn’t

I wonder if she remembers our drunk talk

or if she pretends not to, in the morning/

I wonder if she thinks about me

or if I was just another vice to grab.

Maybe I have made it all up

Maybe she is just a girl

and I am making her an example of my problems

Maybe the world it what it seems on the surface

Maybe the love of my life is asexual by chance

Maybe the list of guys who have pushed me gets longer by chance

Maybe every poem I try to write is sad by chance

or maybe this is all something bigger

Maybe the girl is in my head because she fell into my story

and doesn’t belong.

Maybe I’m onto something here

or maybe I need to go to bed.

 

Guts – 7/13/14

The stars drop silently

While our laughter screams through stale air

My neighbors have no right to complain

Why would people complain anyway

I deserve to be happy

I don’t understand

How we had seperate terrible evenings

But nights together so perfect

We refused to let them end.

I told you how you hurt me

I explained that my heart used to be whole

and you shattered it into a million stars.

I described the pieces as stars because

they were once beautiful

and are now burning away

leaving just darkness.

I shared my need to cut off my skin

hoping it would allow my heart to evaporate

and I wouldn’t be stuck

with a melted puddle in my ribcage.

We talked about pain for hours

and I had never felt so safe.

What is it about your hair

in a side pony

and a bang on the right

twisted with the arm of your glasses

that makes me forget the world?

Intoxicating my blood stream

while you intoxicate my mind

is just a recipe for disaster.

I forgot how to filter and for once

let shields down I didn’t know were there.

I knew you’d be scared of my insides

There’s a reason guts are only spilled

in horror movies.

I never meant to hurt you

Please understand

that without you in my life

I wouldn’t have guts to spill

Just tears watering my face

hoping they’d grow into something beautiful

so you’d love me again.

Numbers 2/17/14

In math we learned
that the space between
any two numbers
is infinite.
The biggest number
less than two
is undefined.
You can always add
another number
after the decimal.
That’s what loving
you is like.
Every smile
is another number
after the decimal.
I think I can’t
love you any more
but then
my heart
finds another number
greater than me
and less than
you.

Depressing Freewrite Thing 11/18/13

When Netflix stops to buffer or
Your heater suddenly turns off
When the music silences before going to the next song
Do you hear the buzz?
The wind is blowing through the treetops and I feel I’m laying on a dance floor under lower class poverty ridden Mexican women. They spin so fast, the edge of their skirts can touch the dreams they have for the future.
There’s a kitten I’m calling to. It’s cold and wet and I can help it but it doesn’t come. I wonder if that’s what my father feels like. He always called me kitten.
I left because I wanted to avoid that buzz.
Every time I’ve left it’s been to avoid the buzz.
I’m blasting Iris by the Goo goo Dolls but I can still hear it. It’s a steady buzz in my head, nine times louder than my heart beat.
I told them not to look for me and after two hours they haven’t. I forget that no only meant yes to him.
Rape is a funny thing. It’s as if he knew I’d be a bad person so found a way for consistent punishment. Endless punishment.
I got cold and I tried to run but the tree stopped me.
If I make it through the night, I’ll have to explain the cuts across my neck.
If I don’t, someone will find me when they miss the goal and their disk flies away.
They will never finish their game.
They will never hear the clink when the frisbee meets the metal basket.
Instead they’ll hear the buzz.

Connections 8/13/13

When a writer closes their eyes to go to a “happy place”

They don’t picture the lake, ocean, or grandma’s kitchen

When I want to be at peace, I recall all those I’ve seen

The girl with the demitasse and the constellation tattoos

Heart broken by a man who exchanged fists instead of kisses

Pens and paintbrushes became her life- taking pretty things and making them beautiful

The perky  six year old who collects fallen leaves to keep safe all winter

So when Spring comes around, he can bury them in the park

Keeping pretty things around for people to look at

The shy analytical barista with a beard and glasses

Who does long division on napkins during break

Only finding peace when stargazing with kids in the park

These people will never speak to me, or each other

But as a writer, I can connect them all

What place is happier then that?